A Long Moving On
by genies
Summary: Harry is frantic at work and has to take some time off.


**This was a story written for Word Prompt Express at Hogwarts (Prompt: fit these 1000 prompts into a story). I used those, minus churp and threshal, because I could not figure out what those meant.**

 **If this writing seems terrible, it's because it is.**

 **Also, there's a gay relationship because reasons stated at the bottom.**

 **WC: 7440**

* * *

Harry wanted access to the accident site, and his boss, Kingsley, was insisting that there was still a large amount of active Dark Magic in the area and that all investigators were not allowed in until further notice. Harry snorted at this notion. He had come closer to dark magic as the Chosen One than what the newspapers let on. Really, it's hard not to when you have Voldemort or his voice poking around in your brain. Harry thought back to years ago in his childhood, when he was young and in year seven, when he could do whatever he wanted. He thought adult life would provide more freedom, but so far he was having to adjust to less of it. Perhaps when he advanced up the ranks of Aurors, the advantage of his status would be enough to affect these 'privacy' affairs. However, the age of those Aurors tended to be a bit up there, and they did more paperwork than anything. Harry had a hard time seeing himself agreeing to that. He liked paperwork about as much as he liked airports as an alternative to apparating.

All he wanted was the exciting thrill of a dangerous challenge, not to be some boring data analyst or clerk sitting in a chair all day. As much as Hermione had predicted that he would want to stop playing the hero eventually, that part of him (perhaps the primal animal part) was relentless. He had considered being a sort of independent detective, taking commissions for special cases, but he never had an eye for business.

As he grumbled over Kingsley's closing of the crime site, he stood in front of his mirror, parked next to his bookshelf in his bedroom. His black hair, which he had grown out over the past few years, stuck to his neck, still wet from his bath. He charmed it dry so he wouldn't look like he had just come from the bathroom. He buttoned his last button, the anxiety of anticipating the annual evening ball (where new leadership of auror squads would be confirmed by the committee) finally washing over him. Usually, when he attended social functions, he never understood the appeal of the whole thing. He wanted to be anywhere but there, and would end up setting himself apart from the rest of the group. He hoped he didn't appear cold and arrogant when he did this.

The mirror gave a little murmur to approve of his color scheme of his clothes for the night. Somehow he had found something appropriately formal and comfortable in his closet. Harry swallowed, and his adam's apple bobbed up with nerves. "Don't be a baby, Harry. You are ready; calm down. I'm certain you're the perfect candidate for this promotion. Your belt looks nice." his mirror said, acting as the perfect assistant.

"Thanks," Harry sighed, and shoved his case folder aside in his backpack. He highly doubted he was going to cry tonight, but one never knew.

The arrival at the ball was awkward to say the least. Only a few seconds after he had apparated there, someone attached themselves to his side to assist him in (what Harry made the assumption of) escorting him to the ballroom. Harry felt rather attacked. He settled for some chair in the back, and hoped to fade into the background.

His whole life, his every move had been judged by the press, or cult, he wasn't sure. He didn't want to draw any attention from them; he was tired of being on the front page for mundane, basic things of his life when there were important issues to talk about, like how Dark Magic groups were still persecuting Muggles. Avoiding reporters wasn't going to be as difficult as usual, since Kingsely and a bunch of other famous politicians were here. Maybe Umbridge would say something stupid, she'd turn scarlet once she realized what she said, and nobody acquainted with the political public would talk about anything else for a week.

The ballroom was beautiful, with cream wallpaper, and a curious cut of cloth for the drapes covering the huge french windows; it made Grimmauld Place look like a barn at best, and a toddler's craft at worst.. And even better, not a pap to be seen.

A waiter walked up to Harry and offered him wine. Harry refused. If he took one glass, he knew he'd take another, and before he knew it, he'd be parked. And that would truly be a wild field day for reporters. He took a cup of coffee instead.

He made eye contact with a Malfoy from across the room. Harry mustered up some of his Gryffindor strength, pushed his bottom of the bench, and made himself brave enough to cross the bridge. "Would you like to dance?" It was almost a dare.

"So we're friends, now?" Malfoy looked up at him from his chair, his head cocked a little sideways.

Harry nodded resolutely. "Friendship."

Harry walked back to his place and had barely sat down when Unspeakable Granger sat beside him. "Did you see the count?"

"Sorry, who?"

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione scolded, "for someone vying to be Head Auror, I'd think you'd be a little more aware. He's only one of the most important people at court. Do you even know his name?"

Harry smiled drily at Hermione's mini-lecture. She was a fine example of a person who deserved to be in the league of politics. Harry wouldn't be surprised if she ended up being a Minister of Magic in the future, with her good reputation and skills.

"So, are you here as my political helper?" Harry joked. "You're definitely coming in handy. Who's that chap over there?"

Hermione hit him lightly on the shoulder as Ron made his way over to them. "That would be Mr. Weasley," Hermione said, "an esteemed colleague of yours."

Ron sat down, knocking Hermione's leg with his knee, pointedly. "Oops. Esteemed is right."

"I'll withhold judgment on your clumsiness," Harry said. "Ready to see if you've been promoted to being an main official?"

"Yeah, I guess." Ron shrugged.

Just then, the host of the night, Kingsley, clambered up to the stage and cast an amplifying charm. With a loud clearing of his voice and a wave of his hand, he began his speech. "Tonight, we've gathered here to give recognition to those in the Ministry who have been working hard and successfully made substantial contributions to our Ministry to make us strong. Most of us have struggled to get here and will struggle more to make sure that our Wizarding community continues to be the power it is. Every individual in the office is invaluable and involved in our governing process. I can guarantee you that each person has been working hard. Tonight, we'll release leadership for the coming year."

"Good luck, Harry," Ron whispered.

"Same to you," Harry said back, feeling terribly informal for interrupting his Minister.

Harry tried to focus on the speech, but to no avail. His mind wandered to different things, like how death was inevitable, how his grandmother might have looked in her youth, how green the grass was, et cetera.

He barely noticed when Head Auror was called.

* * *

Harry opened his dresser drawer. He was in a hurry to dress. His huge meeting with Kingsley was supposed to be in less than an hour, and he hadn't even left the house. Now, there wasn't anything he could do to lower Kingsley's impressions of him, as far as Harry was concerned. Harry didn't get the job he wanted.

He rushed around the bend of the hallway, the best of his reflexes coming into play and going beyond expectations; he had yet to receive a blow from crashing into a wall or edge. The blue of a bruised bone wouldn't be good for the 'invincible' image that he was putting on for the board. For a moment he thought if he were going any faster, he'd be burning holes in the carpet, or maybe toppling the building. He flung open his cabinet and unscrewed his bottle of toothpaste, hurriedly doing his morning routine. Both the bubbles of the shaving cream and the burn of the aftershave made him feel like he was bringing his best game and was ready for business. He slapped his two broad shoulders and breasts with some cologne. He was in the zone.

Kingsley, however, did not share his enthusiasm.

"Harry, whereas your performance is impressive and consistent, I must complain about your typical course of action when you're pursuing a case. You become what some have cited as a crazy demon whose entire existence depends on the state of the case. You tend to drive your Auror coworkers to anger when you strain them so much. I can't put in charge someone who doesn't understand the climate of the group."

"So that's the only problem? You want me to care less about our mission - catching the monsters who commit the murders we're fighting against?"

"No, Harry, I want you to maybe start to understand how to bring people together. You've always been an excellent leader among your classmates, but these people are a different kind. You can't drive them into the dirt and expect the same degree of output. It's simply a matter of efficiency. But I still want you to know that your value as employee is infinite."

"I don't understand. I thought you emphasized hard work and discipline."

"Hard work, and empathy." Shacklebolt stopped for a moment. "I'm going to put you in the east economy wing. You'll work with engineers to clean up corruption. That's a single-man job."

"Cleaning up corruption is a single man job?"

After his exchange with Kingsley, he wasn't sure he wanted to do anything but retire to his rooms sleep. So he went back to Grimmrauld Place and exercised in what he had turned into his gym room.

As he ran off the edge in his anger, he thought more than ever. Could he really not effect change or be effective if he didn't stop to either rest or check in with other people? Why couldn't the staff employed in the auror department have an extent of stamina equal to his?

* * *

Harry had been lying on his couch in front of Hermione, feeling suspiciously like this was a psychologist's meeting that he had never signed up for. His hands rested on the quilt he had on him, trying not to let his upset splay on his face.

"So, I didn't get the job, obviously."

Hermione nodded. "And how does that make you feel?"

"Disappointed, I guess. I really thought I could contribute something to the department."

"You do, everyday."

Harry sat up suddenly. "I'm not going to collapse, Hermione. I can still function like every other human being who's had something not work out before."

Hermione didn't even miss a beat when she replied, "You are functioning, yes, but I don't think you're doing very well."

"I can be the judge of that, okay?" Time to be direct.

He exited the upstairs room in the Burrow and went into the field at a pace quick enough that he surprised himself. The view outside was beautiful. The vast sky was a color similar to that of the clear ocean.

"You have to remain positive, Harry. There's still the possibility..."

Harry cut her off. "You think it's possible? Still?"

"Harry, you've got to stop pushing yourself so hard," Hermione said. She was rubbing her stomach absentmindedly, and she looked entirely too worried. Ever since she had become pregnant, she'd been a bit grumpier, and perhaps more protective, Harry mused.

He snorted and opened a box with Quidditch balls in it. "What am I doing right now? Taking a break. It's not as if I have time to, oh, I don't know, watch some muggle baseball with the family and pretend everything's normal." His voice tripped over the word _family._

"You could take a vacation, you know," Hermione said. "Take a break from your career. Go to the beach? A farm far away? I don't know. It'd be like a late birthday present. Being under constant stress is bad for you."

"I like my work. And my profession is important to me. Thanks for your concern, but really, I'm fine."

"I know. I just worry for you. Sometimes I think you're living in the past, and in doing so are blind when searching for the future."

* * *

Harry went back to Grimmrauld Place with this conflict battling in his brain. He wanted to consider what Hermione was saying, but he also needed to concentrate on his job. Confusion filled his drowsy brain, and the only conclusion he could determine was that he wouldn't be able to make any decision in this condition. He'd think about it tomorrow.

"Are you leaving so soon, Harry?" a familiar voice said.

Harry nearly tackled Mrs. Weasley in a bear hug, forgetting bills, campaigns, everything.

Harry hoisted his bag over his shoulder, trying not to smush the layers upon layers of baked goods that Mrs. Weasley had given to him. As he grumbled about, "should've brought a basket instead," he mounted his bicycle. He was particularly interested in trying the poppy bagel and chocolate banana doughnuts. Also on the menu were jack-o-lantern-shaped fruit fudges, and sugar chicken bread. He doubted there were better than treacle tarts, but anything that Mrs. Weasley made was better than whatever he could buy downtown. Everything would be going straight to his stomach, and then his tummy. If he were ever to diet, he wouldn't get very far before giving in to Mrs. Weasley's stuff and tossing salad and vegetable sandwiches in the trash.

* * *

The next day at work, Harry opened the case that sat before him. Someone had tried to steal some cash from Gringotts, which was absolutely crazy. They'd also tried what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had tried, polyjuice. Harry calculated how much they would've taken if they'd succeeded: 25,000 galleons. His arithmetic class finally had come in some use.

"This muggle wizard is part of a cult whose only goal is to dismantle our society. See, the four heists committed in the last six weeks were all by muggle-borns. I think we should arrest Jerry's male muggle friend."

"What is this claim based on?" Harry asked, irritation beginning to mount. "You want me to arrest someone based on suspicion? You think you'd be able to get a warrant from that? You think I'd be able to carry my head high and look into Kingsley's eye and say, 'I agreed to letting these knuckleheads apply for a warrant because they thought a wizard was a suspect for being muggleborn?"

The two novice aurors shifted in their chairs. "We just didn't want to take a chance."

"So you thought to try to charge them instead."

"Well, sir, it's a bit more complicated than that," they countered. "It's the fact that he's the only cousin of the man who we've identified and who we're trying to catch for attempting to break into Gringotts."

"Let me make this clear. Until you come here with a couple more pieces of evidence, a comprehensive report with reliable and correct content, you're not going to convince me. I will check your sources."

"But, sir. These are chemical weapons we're talking about. Homemade chemical weapons. Only muggles know anything about chemistry."

"What? That's a creative assumption. Any wizard can get chemical weapons. This muggleborn has been out of the country for five years."

"And all of a sudden he's back here. Right when these heists are happening."

Harry frowned. "Ask Auror Peterson."

* * *

Harry stared at the floor that evening, tapping his stomach pensively. The radio was on beside him, and he'd flipped it to a random station and put on his thinker cap. The previous station had been playing juju songs, and he didn't like the sound, so he switched it to something else. The local news was talking about estimates in changes in the stock exchange and how certain companies were expected to expand extra due to some sort of political and economical climate… This droning noise helped Harry get in the mood to get loose and start to think.

Ron had said something surprisingly insightful earlier that particularly resonated with him.

"You've really got to invest in some capital. Your funds aren't going to last forever, and this lifestyle isn't exactly cheap," Harry said.

Ron shrugged. ""Unfortunately, I've met the peak of my career and am destined to waste away as a pretty present boy or even better, plant. I'll write a memoir or something if that ever happens."

"I never thought you'd choose to do that."

"Ah, but if I were broke, that'd be a worthy cause. Will you ever write about the war? For history."

"It's just way too hard to express everything about the war in words. There's no way to do it. The war was too deep a scar." Harry looked away from his friend, staring off into the distance.

"I understand. It's unlikely anybody could tell your story."

"I couldn't even do it is the point. No one can."

"Someday the details of the war will be forgotten. The survivors will die, or their memories will disagree with each others," Ron said, nodding. "Mate, you seriously need to get a girlfriend, or a date, or even just get friendly with a girl, or something."

"This is not the day, Ron. I know you're disappointed that I don't kiss your sister anymore, but you don't have to be so obvious about it," Harry laughed.

"Haha, funny joke." Ron and Harry both didn't speak for a moment, before Ron continued. "But imagine what it would be like if you married Ginny! You'd officially be my brother!"

"Even if I wanted to marry her right now," Harry said seriously, "isn't she with Dean now?"

"Yeah, she is. But, seriously, you should spend some time recovering."

So, Harry had decided to follow his heart and find his true calling in life, besides fighting crime and fighting with basilisk fangs, that is.

He sat up from his narrow bed with a novel idea. He would go to the nearby Muggle club and jump between pubs. With a quick inspection of himself in the mirror, he locked and loaded his metaphorical gun and shot himself out the door. Was this decision logical? No, but Harry was sure that he hadn't any loose screws in his brain.

He supposed that it would do him well to have some fun, let his fuel recharge.

* * *

Harry approached a wooden table, feeling terribly inadequate in his plain shirt and slacks, but it was dark, so he didn't suppose anybody would be getting a view at his clothing.

He sat at a stool, trying to hide his horror as what looked to be a security guard or other officer/inspector started to chat up the guy sitting next to him. "I'd like...apple juice with ice," he mumbled to himself.

He'd been sitting alone for a while when some blond sat next to him.

"Are you from around here?"

Harry looked up, raising his eyebrows. "Not native to this district. Are you?"

"My father's a farmer in the the United States. Pennsylvania, actually."

"You don't sound like you're from America."

"Well, I've lived here my whole life. My father moved overseas for what we might call greener pastures."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"Studying at Oxford."

"Ah, I see." Harry tried to act like he had a clue. "Like, the church in Russia?"

"That's the Orthodox Church. Have you been living under a rock your whole life?"

Harry took another shot, feeling a sick heat pooling in his stomach. "Yeah, something like that."

Their conversation lasted for a few more lines, they exchanged numbers (rather, the blond, Darren, gave Harry his mobile phone number and told him to call him, as Harry wasn't quite sure he even had a phone line), and Darren slid off into the crowd, leaving Harry in shock.

Harry decided that he had had enough fun and went home.

* * *

"Hermione!" Harry knelt in before green fire and looked through the floo connection, fixing his gaze on his friend's face. If only the fireplace could be level with him, or at least within the range that didn't require he bend down. "Do you happen to have a telephone line?"

"It's the early morning! Couldn't you have waited a bit?" Hermione grumbled.

"I just assumed you'd be up."

"Well, you weren't wrong," Hermione sighed. "And, no, I don't happen to have a telephone. If you need one, you can use a telephone box."

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. "Okay, thanks. I'll see you later."

* * *

After that, Harry decided to follow through and call. He folded the paper that Darren had given him in his hands with surprising force as his foot tapped frantically. He wondered why he was getting so worked up about this.

Well, he'd been out of the closet for a while, and really, what did he expect going to a gay bar? It'd be interesting to come out of the closet again, this time about being a Wizard. Or maybe Darren was just looking for a shag or necking, and they'd never meet again. Hopefully

But, either way, Harry was interested in getting to know the guy, and his thoughts weren't flowing very logically, anyway.

He inserted a few quarters and picked up the telephone. Why on earth did this guy's phone number have an extension after it? Before he could second guess himself, he dialled.

"Hello?"

* * *

Harry chewed his lip as he waited and nervously rubbed his neck. He had managed so far to remain sitting in the mall, but he wasn't sure if he could wait any longer before their meeting. It wasn't like him to be a nervous mess, but then again…

He sat at the shop with a curious eye. It made him feel nice to be around people who didn't recognize him by his scar. The ease with which he ate his dish of muffins. Yesterday seemed so far away as he listened to the whirring construction next door, the ding of the elevator, the starting of an engine, gave him such an escape from his normal routine.

He clutched a small gift in his arm, gloves, and a little gold dragon he had grabbed in a novelty shop. He didn't expect to gain anything from this gesture, though maybe it would bridge a communication gap. In an ideal situation, this would increase their closeness and inform Darren of his inner feelings, and maybe generate some conversation. But Harry wasn't going to get his feathers ruffled if nothing happened, as that was not what he intended. He was, in general, just glad to be Darren's guest. Maybe this would transition into something more… something more involved?

Darren approached him quietly and revealed himself suddenly.

"Hey!"

Harry turned in the opposite direction to look at the other man. "Hey yourself."

"Sorry that I'm a bit late," said Darren. "I had to race here after going to the market to get a present for my sister's birthday, which was last March. And then the traffic from all the tourists was terrible."

Over a meal, Darren and Harry fell into comfortable conversation, about subjects ranging from window screens, virus screeners, movie scripts, the weather of the season, how manufacturers handle manufacturing, how to feel secure in the sense of self, sympathy versus empathy…

Harry learned that Darren was sensitive, but there was something that seemed off about him. He left the meeting intrigued.

* * *

In the middle of that night, Harry had a mysterious dream. He was dressed in primary colors in a priest robe, and was standing, prompt, at a train station.

Harry took a deep breath as he looked at station nine and three quarters. Somehow, the air smelled of both smoked eggs and flowers. Hogwarts was where he first truly felt at home, and when he heard the choo choo of the Hogwarts express and when Ron offered his chocolate frog was when he first felt the hope that someone would actually like him. Loading the Hogwarts Express was the link between the muggle and magical.

He held a book that consisted of principles of the church, but what he really wanted was to gain control of the monarchy by first guiding it headfirst into disaster. He had just come from a garage and was out of gas as he passed through his home's gate, which was why he was at the train station. He nodded as he thought about this global issue… losing gas.

He wore a hat in the shape of a hexagon that highlighted his sharp features. In his right hand, he held a highlighter and had absentmindedly drawn a hippogriff on his left hand. He really wouldn't be hired as an artist, but a historian? Maybe.

When the train came into the station, it wasn't a train, but a horse. On its forehead was drawn an igloo sprouting a flag of independence. What this meant, Harry wasn't sure. The horse opened its mouth and said this, "I have a message from the internal chamber of the King, who seeks to mend international affairs on this island. He asks you to join his court in the jungle as a junior. He has kept his eye on you and will pardon you for any killings that you committed with your kite or ladder."

Harry was mystified. What in the world was coming out of this horse's mouth?

The horse then trotted over the landscape and lifting one of its legs said, "I pray that you have learned your lesson. There are two types of wizards: the evers and light wizards, and the dark ones who follow the rules. Those who can survive in this world are limited to the latter."

Harry swore that the horse curled its lip.

Then, he woke up.

* * *

When Harry woke up, in his limited consciousness, he made a single important thought: I must write get rid of the baggage from the past if it's making me have dreams about horses in the middle of the night.

It took him a minute to get situated, but he eventually get out a roll of paper to write letters to all of the people he had never resolved conflicts with.

He put his quill to his paper.

Dear Sirius,

I guess I never got over you being dead the way I got over dad and mom being dad. It's strange that I'm getting emotional about it now, so many years later, but I guess it's because I never got to really experience having a father figure all to myself, and you were almost it. It's hard to explain, especially when you're like me and haven't explored ways to express your feelings. Well, I'm going to be frank. It's always been difficult for me to consult other people, and I've always distanced myself from guidance.

Well, I guess you can guess how happy that made me. Did more harm than help, honestly. It took me a while to realize that, I think. I could've gone on forever like that, just stuck in the past, if I hadn't had a bunch of friends who, as of recent, enabled me and encouraged me to focus on the now and forget former problems. I was lost in this complex cycle that demanded I keep working to not think about anything else… which I don't think was a mistake, but it wasn't great for my health.

When I was born, I was an ordinary kid. And then through some sort of stupid machine of life, for no particular reason, I became representative of good… a sentence I never asked for. But I don't know why I'm telling you this. At this rate, this kind of stuff will be coming out of my mouth as well.

Anyway, I'll stop being negative. I have a network of people to reach out to.

I really would have loved to be your son.

I will forever appreciate your last stand.

Harry.

He put down his quill, then set the paper on fire with a quick spell. That was enough writing for now, and he regretted it a little bit.

* * *

Harry was marching back to his office at work again. He had shoved a log, medical mail, and a map into his locker just a few minutes ago, if that was any indication of how this weird day was going. Any mention of that Muggleborn-related case might cause him to react by going into a minor frenzy, which would not look good on his record.

"Auror Potter, a word?" said a squeaky voice.

"Sure," Harry sighed, entering the nearby office.

"A quick question, why did you arrest that man a week ago? He wasn't one of our targets and had no record."

"He tried to drug me with a love potion," Harry said quickly, making a move to leave.

"What?"

Harry turned back around. "See, Love potions were hot in wizarding culture for a few decades. Even though they were eventually made illegal after a bunch of celebrities who were current at the time lost their cool and all filed a document that discussed the moral sins that love potions were," Harry explained. "So what that person just did is a federal cirme."

"I hope he doesn't get off scotch free."

"He probably won't. The jury will give him a sentence or at least a fee. As their star, I'm considered as precious as a diamond and shall not ever be exploited. They forget that I was exploited for my whole childhood."

"I guess you never really had a normal childhood, then?"

"Well, I'm definitely not a specialist in normality. And now I'm going to leave. Good day." Harry quite enjoyed being a fun sponge.

As soon as he exited that office, another man walked up to him and shook his hand. "A new case on a racer in the streets was recommended to you. A body was recovered, splotched red with blood. For your reference, it's regular for cases like these to involve raw meat, so they're kind of shockers. And the ratio of a good result to a bad one is kind of fiftyfifty!"

"I can hardly resist taking it, but I'm going to have to request that you return this case to accident relations and do your research for what department I'm in." Harry resolved then to either quit his job or take the early train every morning. He wasn't sure what about his body language suggested that he would be sold on every job available, that he could relate to every person, or that he could repair every problem.

Then, a nurse came up to him. "You must see a psychologist immediately! I'm a doctor who's been working at an emergency hospital for thirty years. Trust me when I say I'm a little used to what you might call horrific mental injuries. Believe me, Mr. Potter. I'm an expert on these things.

"That's quite personal. Before you approached me, I hope you got confidentiality papers. And I'm an expert on myself," said Harry, taking a startled step back.

"Stop delaying the future, Harry. If you don't move on, the devils will catch up to you."

Now, what was even worse was what happened when he eventually got out of the tracks of all of the busy Ministry workers and returned to his wonderful (or not so wonderful) office in the northern wing.

The Auror he had referred to his partner Auror Peterson sat near his desk.

"Good afternoon," said Harry.

"Good afternoon," said the other Auror. "The rules specify that I must tell you that I applied for a warrant to search the Muggles' homes in the case we discussed the other day. Lawyers will be coming."

"Oh, okay." Harry walked to his woody desk and stretched to press a button to turn on the pager. "Looking for Kingsley, please. Report to Harry Potter's Office." Now he was really pushing it.

Harry walked right out and turned to his secretary. "Cancel my appointment. I'm not in the mood to see any lawyers from the firm. Call me when you've got decent people. Send their CEO a card of my sincerest regrets."

Then, he stormed out of the Ministry. He was overreacting by a huge jump with space to spare, but he was at his maximum, and his job sucked.

* * *

Harry turned on the weekly news, browsed the web for a while, before seeing some judge teach a lesson to a witness to tax evasion that was so strange that he turned off the computer monitor, and watched a feature film on T.V. instead.

Where could he go that wasn't the least bit stressful? Especially now… when it was nearing winter and the wind was chilly.

Hogwarts, of course.

* * *

Harry walked through the dungeons of Hogwarts. He even stopped in the potions classroom. For once, he wasn't thinking about the war. He felt a little saddened by the school's state; it was a shame it took so much severe damage during the war. The dripping of the lake above the dungeons reminded him of the triwizard tournament, and his mind wandered to times of old.

When he emerged into the courtyard, the sun enveloped him in a warm hug. He climbed a branch of an old tree, and stared at the building that served as a haven for so long. He had to build a different haven for himself now.

Harry opened a book and sat on the green lawn as a bunny ate the grass a few feet away.

Feeling a little crazy, Harry began to speak to it. "You're a medium bunny, aren't you? Did you have a good nanny?

The bunny tensed, then ran. Harry looked behind him, and of course, a standard cat was sitting comfortably on his haunches.

"The cheek of you," Harry muttered to the tabby. The circles around its eyes reminded him of McGonagall.

"Professor McGonagall?"

The cat sprangoff the cable and transfigured back into the professor he knew. "How've you been doing?"

"Fine," the cat said. "Hogwarts is well. I'm surprised the wards remember you especially after you traveled so far away."

"Yeah, me too. Some protection they offer the school. I miss the climate here. I might stay here forever."

"It didn't occur to me that you liked it up north," said McGonagall. "What have you been up to?"

"I've been taking risks, shining in the spotlight. I've been trying to contribute something of significance in the Auror department." He didn't mention the weight he was pulling there, or how his supposedly stable job weighed on him. Not that he didn't want to seem weak, but he didn't want to dump that on his former Head of House.

"That's great to hear."

"Can I see more of Hogwarts?" Harry said, standing up.

"I am not averse to that request."

Professor McGonagall took his arm, and they walked around the castle. Harry forgot about trainer, tours, transitions in the Auror Department, all of his troubles… The wise woman knew she had come here for a reason and told him tall tales and secrets of the castle, re-showed him the ropes, the resident areas, the new metal shutters, the temporary owlery.

They walked a ring around the grounds until till Harry was feeling comforted. Then, he thanked his former professor and left at peace.

* * *

Harry decided to go out with Darren once more. Apparently, they were going on a picnic after they had a conversation that went something like… "Harry, you've seriously never been to a visual arts museum? Or played a game of mini-golf? Next I'll be hearing that you've never seen porn."

"Sorry, I don't really make it a habit of visiting these American establishments."

"I'm sure you have the equivalent of this art show in Britain."

"Yeah, probably, but I was fighting a war."

Darren then decided that they were going on a picnic immediately.

"Harry, the passenger side is on the right."

Ah, right. Cars. Harry walked over to the other side.

As Darren was driving both of them, he said, "I feel like love is a chain, you know what I mean? That it just chips away out or choice, because we're always concerned about the other person. Chop chop goes your life, you know?"

"Ah, not really," Harry said, a bit uncomfortable.

They parked in the parking lot of the grocery store. "I'll go inside and pick up some pickles, pie, and a piece of pig hide. You stay here."

"I'm fine with that proposal. We make a good pair. You pay for everything, and I'll stay put."

Darren pat Harry's shoulder.

Harry got around to thinking, clicking his nails against the roof of the car. He was kind of like the model guy, wasn't he? After that net of a mess that the war was, he could still operate… he had options. Now, this wasn't entirely unaffected by his reserve of riches that he had inherited. Not everybody had that.

"I got some poppy seeds as well. And some inkjets for our printer. I need to print some things out for psychology. I'm rather proud of our first purchase together."

Darren opened a newspaper, reading the headline aloud.

"Coach from East Coast Combines all kinds of people to form one successful cross country team."

"I've got a running cramp just thinking about it, Darren."

"It's not my fault I'm fast on my feet."

Suddenly, Harry began to connect the dots. "You're going back to the states?"

Darren tensed. "Yeah."

"Oh?"

"I always assumed you knew. This was my last year at university. The cost of staying in a foreign country is a family fortune and my parents still need to pay the mortgage. Even those minimum payments are rough."

"You could stay for free, you know. You could move in."

"You don't really mean that."

"I do. You should give me more credit than that."

After the picnic, they went to the cinema. "Don't make a peep," Harry warned. If he ended up tearing up, he didn't want to be noticed.

He felt almost sad that this was the last movie that they'd watch together. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but there was some sort of emotional aspect to watching a western cowboy saddle up, or a pirate set sail and push his boat off the sand.

Harry knew he wasn't the same person he had been a year ago. He'd been focused on saving the world, never thinking to scale back and relax, or schedule time for friends.

* * *

Harry returned to work the next day after his impromptu vacation.

Harry was reading through new auror applicants. He'd been temporarily placed in a desk job, and no matter how he asked, Kingsley insisted that this department needed him more. His job was to spot potential and pour only the best into the program. When the aurors in training that he selected would done going through the process, they were expected to be satisfactory. Otherwise,

He turned the page with a sigh. This particular batch of applicants was terrible. Each profile he read provided passage upon passage of "perfect" achievements and supposed proof of altruism and experience. He supposed the purpose of each of those paragraphs was to paint the picture of a wizard or witch who had personal and physical structure in their lives, and had a powerful affinity with magic.

He'd really have to practice getting used to this. He passed over another report after a slight pause. These applicants seemed to have participated in every single club at their school, played the piano or some other instrument, passed every examination with flying colors, and were highly popular back at school. What they lacked was one thing: passion.

He didn't feel that he'd be able to get a rise out of them.

Harry thought that this quality made someone suited to this profession or not.

Auror Peterson was next to him, sorting like he was. "Okay," Auror Peterson said. "We will look through these for three hours and fifteen minutes and then I shall go shower."

Harry snorted. "Why do you always have to have a plan? Just be present."

"How do you expect to prevent problems?"

"We've always had our different methods."

* * *

The final plane's departure was set for nine o'clock. Harry had deposited all of his valuables, including a diamond-studded, purple and yellow watch from Darren he didn't wish to display. It's not that he wasn't proud of it. He just had a tendency to take it off and leave it lying places, and it would produce a pretty profit for anybody if they decided to take it. Darren had bought it at a sale for a discount price, when the company Gentlewizards was going out of business, but they had since made progress. Anybody who purchased the watch now would look very suave.

Harry's original thought was to hire a private jet, but after thinking about it, he realized he preferred to not spend the money. A private jet wouldn't dig into his savings, or anything, but it was unnecessary.

His plan was that the distance between them wouldn't divide them but draw them closer. He snorted. In what dimension has that ever worked? Then again, Harry has never been great at making plans. Right now, they were to send Darren post every now and then, but that was all.

* * *

Harry went back to work the next day, feeling a bit different than he had a week ago… less like he'd just been hit by a truck and then run over by a tank.

Immediately, he was accosted. "Auror Potter!"

Harry looked their way. "Yes?"

"That arrest we made? He was tried and prosecution won!"

"Who'd you arrest?"

"For the heists at Gringotts? Darren Tobber."

Harry was handed a mugshot that translated better than words.

* * *

Harry thought he owed Hermione a visit. A little talk was in order.

He walked on in her whistling a tune and painting some still life in the kitchen. "I didn't know you liked drawing and visual arts," Harry said.

"I didn't know you liked to write poems."

Harry chuckled. "Who told you?"

"I've been on a quest to know more about you."

"Is that a river?" Harry asked. "Or just a really round ribbon? And is that a swimmer swimming… or snow? Or just white soil? Or a sook?"

Hermione smiled. "Spare me. I'm trying."

"If you sell it, I'll buy it," he assured her, so she knew he wasn't saying it out of spite. He closed the gap that separated him and spread his arms to give her a hug.

"Do you have a question?" Hermione said suspiciously. "If so, shoot. I'm at your service."

"Should I take that as the simple signal to dump all of my psychological baggage?"

Hermione leaned over and put her paint brushes and tools of all sizes in the sink. "I've got paint all over my skin, Harry. I might have soiled your clothes."

"Oh, it's okay with me. It'll had some nice tones to this hideous shirt."

"Don't be silly. That shirt was a gift from Molly!"

Harry covered his mouth quickly. "Did I let that slip? I'm a little slow today."

"Those thoughts just don't stick in that brain of yours," Hermione said. She removed herself from her strip of protective newspaper and took off her apron. Absentmindedly, she removed a sticker from her hair. "Did you come here to talk?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, you can read me too well."

"You're much happier than you were before."

"For the last strip of days on the calendar, I've taken a tiny variation into my schedule. I took your suggestion, er, tip, to take a break. You win… it was not that bad."

"You should get a penalty for that pride of yours," Hermione said, though she was smiling. "I promised it would be good."

"Thanks for supporting me."

"I'm always willing to be your top supporter. You would swim in stress otherwise. But maybe I tie with Ron for that title."

"Wouldn't trade you for the world.

"If it comes down to the world, you better."

* * *

 **If you made it through this awful thing, I pity you.**

 **This was originally going to be a Drarry thing, and Harry was going to suspect Darren of the heists, and Darren was actually Draco under a guise, and it turns out neither Darren nor Draco did the heists, but Harry is still mad for deception. But that didn't happen, and I couldn't really change the content because of the nature of the challenge.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


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